


Macrosmatic

by JustJasper



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Scent Kink, Scents & Smells, smell kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:04:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/pseuds/JustJasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qunari have a good sense of smell, and humans don't smell too bad. Dorian smells amazing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Macrosmatic

**Author's Note:**

> You probably know of the banter referenced in this fic:
> 
> Dorian: Vishante kaffas! Don’t you ever bathe?  
> Iron Bull: Sometimes. You want to watch, don’t you?  
> Dorian: I’d rather stand upwind.  
> Iron Bull: Human sweat smells like pork that’s been sitting in the sun. Just saying.
> 
> But did you know, if you don't get that banter until after they've started a relationship, it goes like this:
> 
> Dorian: Vishante kaffas! Don’t you ever bathe?  
> Iron Bull: You like it.

“ **I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.” - Madeline Miller**

“So, do we really smell bad to you?” Dorian asked one evening, lying sated on Bull's chest after some particularly sweaty sex.

“You mean humans?” Iron Bull glanced at him, chest still heaving with the effort they'd just undertaken.

“You said our sweat smelt like rotting pork.”

“I believe I said pork that's been out in the sun.” Bull chuckled breathlessly, “And I only said that because you were making a fuss about me stinking.”

“Well, you did.”

“I'd spent the whole day climbing hills and killing bandits,” Bull pointed out, though he hadn't even been offended at the time all those months ago, considering he had such a good read on Dorian; insults had been how Dorian communicated then, by and large.

“I may have been rather rude about it, yes,” Dorian admitted, resting his chin on his forearm. “You smell different to what I'm used to. I'll even admit it wasn't a bad sort of different then, but powerful, and I wasn't about to randomly tell you that you smelt in a way that made my cock interested.”

Bull shrugged as best he could in a prone position. “I figured.”

“Of course you did.” Dorian hummed, edge of his mouth twitching with a smirk.

“You humans only smell rancid when it's old and stale, not so bad in general. Not as strong as qunari, but you're all so small, that's to be expected.”

Dorian scoffed, and Bull inhaled deeply through his nose.

“The way you smell, though, it's good.”

“Not like pork?”

“Nah. Hard to describe.” He breathed in their combined smell again and made a show of considering. “You don't smell of a particular thing I can compare it to, under whatever oils and perfume you slap on.”

Dorian flicked his chest hard with his finger, giving him an exaggerated look of offence.

“Hey, I said you smell good, didn't I? Those are a part of it, but under it, you just smell like you.”

“So descriptive.”

“I like it, though,” Bull reiterated. “Like the way it changes when you get aroused, the way I can smell you across camp, even over the fire burning when you want to go back to the tent and fuck.”

“Do I smell that much?” Dorian was a little concerned, but against him Bull could feel the man's cock stirring, so the worry didn't last long.

“Qunari have better senses than humans. Besides, I couldn't smell you from that far away until I knew what you smelt like. Now you're familiar, I could pick you out in a crowded room in the dark.”

Against his lover's firm body, Dorian shuddered, and shifted enough to line up their half-hard cocks. He rolled his hips lazily, the damp sheen of sweat covering them helping to ease the motion. They continued much like that, moving only so they could kiss and Dorian could frot himself properly against Bull, sweaty and lazy and a little frantic at the end, both of them spilling between their bodies with wet heat.

Afterwards Dorian curled up on his chest again, and Bull fell asleep with the heady smell of sex hanging heavy in the air.

\---

Sera grinned at him. “You ready to go fart around in the crumbling old elf holes?”

Bull returned the expression, while nearby Solas glared with open distaste at her. Usually the Inquisitor took her entire team out into the field, even if she preferred to work with a small party. It meant she could utilise everyone's skills with just a trip back to camp. This time, however, they were going to scout ruins – probably elven, by Solas' reckoning - in the mountains within just day or two of Skyhold, so the resources to host a whole team were being utilised elsewhere when a raven could be sent within a few hours if anyone else was required.

“These ruins are a part of your cultural history, Sera,” Solas said, the beginning of a one-sided lecture that Bull was glad was cut short when Sera blew an obnoxious raspberry at him. They hadn't even seen the ruins yet, and he thought there would be plenty of time for Solas to attempt to educate an unwilling Sera on the finer points of elven history.

His attention was caught by Dorian sauntering across the courtyard towards him, and something warm and wild swelled in his chest. They usually departed Skyhold together, with no need for farewells and well-wishing, even if they'd been inclined.

“Come to see me off?” When Dorian didn't deny that he had, the feeling in his chest seemed to bubble in a pleased way.

“Hold out your hand,” Dorian said, and his smile broadened when Bull did so straight away. Into his palm Dorian pressed a neatly folded piece of red material, then pressed Bull's fingers closed over it, to disguise the gift from the gaze of any onlookers.

“What's this?” Bull ran his thumb gently over the material in his palm, though he let his hand fall away to keep the attention of any wandering eyes from it as Dorian seemed to desire.

“You've seen Josephine give Cadash a token every time we leave,” he said lightly, and Bull's eyebrow inched up with surprise. He could recall it, in fact he was certain it was happening now just out of his field of vision; Josephine would hand the Inquisitor a delicate lacy handkerchief, and Cadash would tie it securely onto her person; an arm, a wrist, her belt, the affection clear in the gesture.

The differences between the gesture meant something though; Josephine's token was given openly and meant to be worn plainly, while Dorian's had been folded small and pressed into his palm. It was still significant that Dorian would draw direct comparison, but Bull understood it to be a more private gesture. He tucked the handkerchief into the pouch at his belt, and this seemed to be the right response, because Dorian smiled easily and looked up at him through his eyelashes. Bull fought the urge to lean down and kiss him; they were an open secret at this point, but whatever happened had to be at Dorian's pace.

“Come back in one piece, if you'd be so kind. Think of me while you're gone.” He touched his fingertips to Bull's bare torso, a light brush for only a few seconds, and then he'd turned away, waving farewell to Sera and the Inquisitor, giving a farewell to Solas, as if their exchange being the first had been merely coincidental.

\---

Solas was a good tent partner in that he he was quiet and went straight to sleep, as long as Bull didn't think about the risk of a demon possessing him and attacking Bull in the night. As far as mages went, Solas seemed to have a handle on all that Fade shit.

Not that it mattered at that moment, since Solas had elected to take first watch, wanting to write notes about the ruin they'd found. It was cold, decrepit, and made Bull feel strangely sad deep in his gut, and he was glad to be back at camp instead.

Out of his armour, he spent some time stretching out his leg, his knee painful and swollen from the cold. What he wouldn't give for Dorian's magically warmed hands on it – not something he was into asking Solas for. Instead, he stretched his legs out on his bedroll and fished around in his belt pouch for the folded handkerchief Dorian had given him when he left on the expedition. He'd thought about it all day, the exaggerated phantom weight of it against his thigh a satisfying comfort to take into the creepy ruins.

Alone in the tent, away from the overwhelming olfactory onslaught of leather and mounts and mingling crowds, or crumbling, dank ruins, he realised with a thrill of excitement the token smelled like Dorian.

Carefully he unfolded it, and with each turn the scent was stronger and richer. Finally, unable to resist, he pressed the unfolded material to his nose and inhaled deeply. The smell of Dorian flooded him; heady with his musk, strong and deep like spice, with the barest sweet hint of a favoured oil the man would rub into his skin. Bull groaned, the aroma sending signals straight to his cock before he could even process why; the handkerchief smelt like Dorian smelt during sex.

Every inch of the fabric seemed to emit the fragrance, and Bull's mind was immediately filled with possibilities of what Dorian must have done to imbue the fabric so thoroughly. He eased himself down and took another long inhale from the token, his other hand loosing the fastening of his trousers. 

As he freed his hardening erection from the confines, he pictured Dorian choosing a handkerchief from his collection, knew the red was a deliberate choice. Had he pondered it? Dorian might have thought white unfitting for something so sexual, black too much a reassurance; red was unpredictable, exciting. He wrapped a calloused hand around his shaft and squeezed himself, feeling his cock grow full and solid in his grasp.

Perhaps Dorian had worn it casually at first, attempting to accomplish his task by mundane means. The handkerchief secreted under an armpit, maybe, while he sat and read in his nook in the library. Iron Bull began to stroke himself slowly to the thought of Dorian reading some dusty old tome, all the while making sure that scrap of fabric stayed there, absorbing his scent.

Knowing Dorian's penchant for the deviant, perhaps he'd stuffed the handkerchief down his underthings, nestled against his cock and balls while he trained on the battlements, sweaty from exertion. Bull couldn't help the groan the thought elicited from him, rumbling deep from his chest as he squeezed a dribble of precum out of the slit of his cock. Dorian training was a sight to behold, whirling rotations and flexing muscles, raw power with a spark of fire. He thought sometimes he could stroke himself off just to the sight of that, but that coupled with the thought of the red fabric brushing against his cock in his tight leggings was certainly doing the trick.

But it didn't smell like a sweaty workout, it smelled like _sex_. Which could only mean that Dorian had pleasured himself with the the fabric pressed against him, wiped over his sweating body as he arched and gasped. He knew what the man's body looked like under his own hand, had watched him touch himself multiple times, could picture the swollen head of his cock leaking in a mirror to his own, the strain of his muscle and the flutter of his eyelids as he pushed himself to the edge and then eased back, teasing himself until he couldn't stand it.

Bull stroked himself faster, scrunched the handkerchief up under his nose and inhaled deeply the familiar, wonderful smell. Dorian had probably wrapped it around his cock as he stroked himself, pleasured himself just for Bull's benefit. He couldn't help the stupid grin forming on his face behind the fabric at the delight of that knowledge. If Dorian had done that for him, he had probably thought about him while he got himself off. Bull stifled a groan as he thumbed the sensitive head of his cock, felt himself drawing close. He inhaled, and followed the skittering memories that the smell bought of tangled limbs, of Dorian stretched wide around his cock, eager and needy, laughing and moaning, begging for more or faster or harder.

He stroked himself through it, twisting his hand around the girth of himself, nose full of the rich, spicy smell of the glorious Tevinter mage who had probably planned for exactly this outcome. He groaned and came thickly over his fingers and chest, hips jutting upwards as he moaned as softly as he could bear into the red fabric, until he was utterly spent.

When the blood had stopped pumping in his ears, he eased the handkerchief away from his face, the rush of cool fresh air filling his nose as he breathed in deeply. He set the fabric aside as he moved to clean up before anyone could come alert him for his turn at watch; he didn't much fancy the idea of being caught with his cock out, covered in his drying seed when Solas returned. Afterwards, he folded the square of fabric carefully, and put it under his pillow, which disguised the smell, but not entirely. When he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine Dorian sleeping on the other bedroll, within the the reach of his hand, the scent of him faint and pleasant.

\---

Dorian was leaning on a wall looking nonchalant and utterly gorgeous when the expedition returned to Skyhold. He watched Josephine rush to Cadash, who untied the handkerchief from her wrist and passed it between their hands, then leaned up to receive a kiss. Grinning, he made his way over to where the mage was standing, considering him with a knowing smile.

“All in one piece, I take?” Dorian's eyes raked over him as he eased himself off the wall.

“Careful, Dorian,” Iron Bull murmured, smiling down at him, “I've been hiking all day. I probably smell _terrible_.”

Dorian gave an unconscious sniff, and couldn't disguise the slight flutter of his eyelids even as he raised an eyebrow. Bull glanced around, saw nobody was paying them any mind, and then extracted the red fabric from his belt pouch by taking a corner and dragging the no longer neatly folded handkerchief out. Dorian's eyes widened, but he couldn't look away as Bull lifted the fabric to his nose and made a show of inhaling deeply.

“It's faded.” Bull smirked behind the handkerchief. “Still good, though.”

Dorian gathered himself, mischief all over his face. “How about you come sample the pure, unadulterated thing?”

Closing his fist around the wrinkled fabric, Bull nodded in the direction of the Tavern, and followed in Dorian's quick footsteps.

“ **I desire to be with you. I miss you. I feel lonely when I can't see you. I am obsessed with you, fascinated by you, infatuated with you. I hunger for your taste, your smell, the feel of your soul touching mine.” - Jack Llawayllynn**

 

**Author's Note:**

> rockymountain-oyster did [some amazing fanart](http://rockymountain-oyster.tumblr.com/post/118571334252/felt-the-need-to-draw-one-of-the-scenes) for this story! uotuok also did [some fantastic fanart](https://uotuok.tumblr.com/post/164482076069/macrosmatic-by-jasper)!


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